


To See the End With You

by cometconnector



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Apocalypse, Drinking to Cope, Driving, Drunken Kissing, End of the World, Florida, Friends to Lovers, I Made Myself Cry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jealousy, M/M, Nuclear Warfare, One Shot, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Running Away, Slow Burn, Songfic, Third Wheeling Is An Olympic Sport, george is tiny and small and dream loves that, mitski makes me feel things, no beta we die like dream and george, sapnap and his layers, this reads like an academic essay but i think thats part of the draw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27514132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cometconnector/pseuds/cometconnector
Summary: George's week-long stay at Dream's apartment felt like a fantasy. The pair had never been happier.Dream could never have imagined things going so horribly wrong.The impending threat of nuclear war is certainly enough to sour the mood, and more than enough to coax out the boys' true feelings for one another.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

_My feet are aching, and your back is pretty tired_

Dream felt like he was underwater. In fact, he'd felt that way for a few hours now. The phone held up in front of his face blurred into the background, but the bright LEDs of the screen caused his head to pulse; the ache was ever-present but muffled significantly by alcohol. 

He had been refreshing the news all day, various reports of an international agreement gone south played noisily in the forefront of his mind. The news was down now, along with every other major network. CNN, FOX, MSNBC; gone, just like that. The argument over which you watched felt futile now. It seemed apparent to everyone that they were going to the same place. 

Numbness had overtaken things slightly -- the fuzzy feeling had spread to his extremities, slowing his movements. It was the mental aspect he was having trouble with. He was grappling with the fact that he had to go through each stage of grief in an indeterminate amount of time. A heavy, insurmountable, grief, one he couldn't begin to comprehend. Grief for himself, for his family, for his career, the world. 

Dream could hardly bear speaking to his best friend, who was lying on the couch next to him. George had his head in Dream's lap, eyes closed, overwhelmed from the alcohol. He never had been much of a drinker. Dream felt the boy's head shift atop his thighs, eyes peeking open to peer blankly at the TV. The scroller at the bottom of the screen gave occasional new updates, of which the validity was questionable at best. The device had long since been muted. News of nuclear war was enough for both of the boys to feel sufficiently ill. 

_We've drunk a couple bottles, babe, and set our grief aside_

Dream reached an arm loosely to the side table, grasping the first bottle he felt and bringing it to his mouth. The liquid sat on his tongue for a moment, before travelling down his throat, leaving a burning trail in its wake. He closed his eyes and let the vivid sensation wane before sizzling away altogether. The other hand rested on his friend's head, fingers lazily carding through his coffee colored hair, the strands tickling each knuckle. 

He was grateful to have discovered George's love language, touch, or else he probably wouldn't have realized how much the older boy cared for him. Ever since his arrival in Orlando a month ago, he had hardly left Dream's side. A smile crept onto Dream's face, remembering the first weeks of George's visit, lying in his bed together, whispering as though they were at a childhood sleepover, telling each other secrets. 

They would get closer until they made eachother giggle, whispering a stupid inside joke or phrase, backing away with a scrunched nose and a small smile. Dream recalls with a pit in his stomach the times in which he felt close enough to tell his friend how he felt about him. How being in bed with him just felt right, how staring into his eyes and waking up each day to walk to the bakery in his pajamas with him for breakfast was what his life was missing. How he wouldn't have traded getting too close and smelling the sickeningly sweet smell of apple pancakes and syrup on his friend's breath for the world. But the words never made it past his lips. The admission of affection stuck just behind his tongue, a small weight sitting in the back of his throat.

Each time, his breath would quicken as though he were choking on the words, and he would instead opt to stare in his friend's amber eyes and the childlike gleam that had never left them. 

And every time George met the younger's own verdant eyes, Dream would avert them. God, he regretted nothing more. He would give anything to stare into them now, but it would break him and he knew it. Had he just looked a little longer into his best friend's eyes, perhaps he could've worked up the courage to tell George he loved him. 

But contemplating hypotheticals would be the death of him, especially now. Ever since the news broke, it quickly became apparent to the twenty-one year old that there wasn't a point in ruining all he had left because of a dumb crush. He just had to cherish what they had while they did. 

_The papers say it's doomsday_

On the day that CNN first reported the news of President Trump and Kim Jong Un's disagreement, Twitter took the opportunity to make a trending hashtag, a partial joke, although many were unsure. The word "Cherish" spread like wildfire overnight and continued to trend into the coming days. Albeit accidentally, the word stuck with Dream and has remained in his thoughts since. Billions of tweets sent containing the word flooded Dream's timeline, but he wasn't sure what to say. And so, he went radio silent. 

He'd become wary over time of becoming political online, to appease his audience. George followed suit, and insisted that the two delete the app from their phones. Countless messages had come through, flooding their inboxes, telling them that they'd be missed, wishing them well. That was two days ago. They hadn't checked since. 

Dream couldn't even come up with a coherent or meaningful message to send to Sapnap, despite having been friends with him for nearly nine years. He hadn't received a message from him either, though. Dream figured he was busy over in Texas. It all felt so surreal.

When Dream had originally arrived home from retrieving the mail a few afternoons ago, he let out a short scoff, followed by a quiet and prolonged wheeze, as he set down the newspaper on the countertop; a large image of American and North Korean leaders plastered on the front page, with "WAR!" stuck in the middle in large font. The two chuckled, comparing the paper before them to something out of a history book. As the hours ticked by, though, with increasingly worrying updates being posted nonstop, the reality of the situation began to set in, sobering the pair and ceasing their laughter. 

And just the previous night, Dream had broken down to George, gripping his sweater with white-hot knuckles and begging him not to leave. He had caught the older boy texting his mother shakily, updating her on the situation down in Florida. Dream had assumed that meant that he was going to try and make his way home. It was a naive thought; there was no way flights were still in service considering the situation. 

Nonetheless, the thought of being alone, no, being without George, was a terrifying one to Dream. Dried tears plastered his face still to serve as a reminder. Thinking of the previous night's event, he sucked in a shuddering breath. How George had held him close and whispered to him that he wasn't going anywhere, he _couldn't_ go anywhere.

"I'm stuck with you," George joked half-heartedly, scratching the nape of Dream's neck rhythmically, thin fingers running up and down the back of his head. 

Dream blinked back tears, eyes burning. His heart pounded unendingly at the thought of seeing the end without anyone there with him. He truly couldn't imagine anything more horrifying. George held him a bit longer, before letting go and slowly shutting his phone off exaggeratedly for Dream to see. 

_The button has been pressed. We're gonna nuke each other up, boys, 'til old Satan stands impressed_

Dream realized abruptly that he had recalled the events of the past two days in his head up until the point he stopped remembering. When he and George pulled open the alcohol cabinet, and pulled only the strongest from the dusty cupboard. It all went down like medicine, but it did the job. Dream was only slightly surprised to see his friend keep up with him despite his smaller stature. Some time ago he coaxed George into lying on the couch with him. It had been hours, probably. And with that offhand realization, came a more sobering one; this could all be over at any time.

The man's stomach churned at the thought, nearly felt the alcohol come back up. A quick look out the window showed that it was still somewhat light out. He moved his hand down to George's shoulder. The poor boy looked pallid, near cadaverous in his lap, completely different from the lively and animated boy he had become so familiar with. From the nerves or the alcohol, Dream wasn't sure. He gripped the older man's shoulder and shook him slightly.

His eyes opened and peered up at Dream. They were glassy, somewhere far-off. Dream looked into them, trying to find where exactly George was in his mind so he could meet him there. George stared expectantly at him, not saying a word, waiting for Dream to make the first move.

"We-", Dream started. The alcohol tickled his throat, and he cleared it uncomfortably.

"We could go to the roof," he pushed out the words, sounding more like a question than a suggestion.

Gauging a reaction, Dream looked intently at those glazed over eyes. The lids fell closed slowly, then opened with more clarity. His amber irises shone, stark pupils finally meeting his assertive companion's own concerned, pleading ones. George's brows furrowed as if to ponder, or to simply process the proposal at all. Dream felt the need to clarify this plan, but before he could think of the words, the apartment's lights flickered once, then twice, then shut off for good. The two jumped at the unexpected change, jarring to them in their drunken state.

A low electric hum fizzled to silence, and the TV crackled before going dark. The natural lighting of an evening in Florida, brilliant muted pinks and oranges, spilt onto the floorboards. The blinds made a patterned shadow on the ground. Neither knew what to say. 

Dream remembered reading yesterday, or the day before, that power outages should be expected around the time of usage of nuclear weapons. Something about protecting cities from further damage in the case of a less severe attack than expected. Dream knew it was bullshit. He also remembered reading about the United State's bombings at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, saw the damage inflicted there; and God knows how much worse that would be now that they've had time to develop these weapons. 

The fact that, if this really did happen, everything he knew would be gone, that _he_ would be gone, was becoming an increasingly prevalent one in his mind. Full population wipeout, Malthusian limit, mass extinction-type shit. 

_So this is really happening_ , his mind supplied. 

Negating the need for a response from George, Dream shook his head to clear the fuzziness that had built up. In an awkward half-hug, half-push, he sat George up, watched as his head rolled back as though he were in an unconscious state. George's head stabled, and he took a deep breath in, his shoulders visibly rising and falling. 

Dream hastily stood up, knees cracking with the sudden movement. Immediately, he felt the blood rush from his head, and the floor spun beneath his bare feet. The blinds' shadows moved like waves before Dream's eyes. He closed them violently, squeezing the lids shut. And upon reopening, the movement slowed to a stop, and he felt only mildly disoriented.

He turned to his smaller friend, whose face still seemed disconcertingly unmoving. 

Dream whispered a barely comprehensible "C'mon" to his companion and grabbed his sweater sleeve half-heartedly. He pulled, only slightly, and to his surprise, the man moved with him, pliant in his arms like putty. George's small form rose from the couch. He looked a mess, hair mussed from Dream's subtle affection, dark circles under his sad eyes. Dream recognized his swaying, probably experiencing the same concerning disorientation he felt mere moments before. 

With only minor hesitation, Dream's long arms wrapped themselves around the younger man, warm hands resting on the small of his back. Dream rested his chin on top of George's head and breathed in the musky scent of his product. The embrace seemed to ground the both of them, he recognized, as George was no longer shaking and swaying so violently. 

"I've got you, I've got you," Dream murmured into the thin man's ear, making the best attempt he could at comforting him. It wasn't apparent that either of the boys would let go first. 

The power outage instilled a new emotion in them both; for George, an incredible, deafening sadness. The knowledge he'd never see his parents again, or his friends from Uni, or his aunts, his uncles, cousins. He felt such an intense guiltiness for not being there with them now, knowing how afraid they probably were. He had thought, a few hours ago, about how Ponk might be doing. He quickly pushed that out of his mind, as the idea of the young man pacing around his apartment and wondering why George, one of his closest friends, wasn’t answering his messages, was eating him up inside. He had let his phone die last night and hadn’t even considered plugging it back in.

_At least I have Dream._

And for Dream, the confirmation of the past few day's impending threats brought an unnerving sense of calm to him. Until now he had felt that deafening sadness, the guilt, the fear. And as they drank the day away, Dream went down the line, and one-by-one pictured relatives, friends, exes, all in his head, and thought of what he'd say to them if he could've worked up enough courage to send them a message. 

He mentally fussed over the wording, starting and restarting a hundred times. But now that the world's unspoken fears had been validated, those words seemed to leave him. He didn't need them anymore. All he knew now was what he had at that moment, which was the love of his life, his best friend of five years, small, warm, and soft in his arms.

_At least I have George._

Dream felt George's arms go limp around him, and he pulled back from the embrace naturally, making a calculated attempt to move slowly so as not to jostle the boy. It took everything in him to keep his friend safe from the world, leaving him without enough time or energy to manage himself. It was a problem he had had in previous relationships, always straining himself just too far to the point of internal conflict, all in the name of protecting his lover. 

Not that George was his lover.

Dream had found himself, though, over the last few days, caring more for the other than himself; what he couldn't tell, though, was whether it was because he needed a distraction or because George was the only thing he had left to care about. Frankly, at that moment, he couldn't be bothered to know the answer, or to make an attempt to work on that one. Especially not right now. It worked for him.

George turned slowly to the apartment’s front entrance, taking the first few steps towards it. Dream observed half-amusedly that the normally quick footed young man was walking unevenly, swaying. He made an attempt to rush to George and keep him walking in a straight line, but his feet had dragged and nearly sent him tumbling to the floor. His body managed to keep him upright, but it didn’t stop George from turning to the younger man and cracking an instinctive half-smile at his bumbling. Dream couldn’t help but reciprocate.

The pit in his stomach loosened, it felt like old times for a moment. Laughing at the stupidest occurrences over breakfast and lunch, or while recording. Just talking on voice chat for hours on end, until Dream could see the sun come up, reluctantly saying his goodbyes before heading to bed with a smile, recalling all the things George had said to make him laugh. Spitballing plugin ideas with Sapnap, giggling and wheezing until they couldn’t breathe at the ridiculous concepts they would come up with, or playing 8 Ball with George every day, only stopping once the brit had won a game. 

Never would he have imagined things going so, so horribly wrong. He hurriedly shoved the memories of Sapnap from his brain, not letting himself imagine the panic the 19 year old might be in given the current state. Dream knew he would want nothing more than to be alongside the pair of them rather than with his family in Texas. He had always spoken fondly about the idea of taking his car and driving to Florida, without a word to his family, and just living with his friend. It was a pipe dream though, and Sapnap knew it.

The pit in Dream’s stomach returned as he felt the guilt again, of having George over before Sapnap, despite the former living significantly further. The number of times Sapnap had been able to visit but hadn’t, and vice versa. He remembered with a scrunched nose how hurt Sap had sounded over the phone when Dream called after picking up George from the airport, the feigned happiness in the youngest man’s voice when he heard George in the car with him. 

Dream was torn from his thoughts at the noise of George’s body hitting the door, his slight form slipping and slumping against it awkwardly as he lost his balance again. Dream watched sadly as gravity took his friend down, his spindly hand gripping the doorknob like a lifeline, the apartment’s heavy front door creaking open towards the pair.

The two were engulfed, immediately, in the familiar smell of a Floridian night. George lifted himself haphazardly using the doorknob, turned from the hot summer air flooding the apartment. The two stared blankly out at the stairwell, open to the complex’s parking lot. 

The sight before them was a jarring one; the complex, which, at night, was normally lit by orange overhead streetlamps, was leaden and somber. A deadly silence overtook the area. Dream shook his head and coughed slightly to make sure he hadn’t gone deaf -- no, it was just as though his ears had been stuffed with cotton. A glance towards George showed a nervous expression, small shoulders rising and falling quickly in an attempt to acclimate to the stiff humidity. 

It was now or never, Dream realized, taking the first steps out of the door and into the empty stairwell. His feet stuck uncomfortably to the painted cement floors, stray grains of sand tickling the pads of them. George planted himself firmly in the doorway, akin to a puppy being let outside to play for the first time. Dream gingerly extended a shaking hand to the older man, who in return grasped Dream’s forearm. His blond brow furrowed at the nails digging into his wrist, choosing to instead focus on their journey to the roof.

As George finally stepped through the doorway, Dream laid a hand over his shoulder, free hand keeping a firm grasp on his companion’s slim upper arm. The two locked into their tight embrace as they faced the flight of stairs before them; fortunately, they only had to make it up one flight to access the building’s roof. 

The slapping of their steps on the stairs pierced the dense air, and when George stopped for a moment to reorient, Dream could barely make out in the background the ever-present hum of frogs and crickets in the surrounding trees and grass. Normally, those sounds would be drowned out by Orlando’s noise pollution issue, the traffic buzzing on the highway, though Dream guessed not many were driving at the moment. Where would people even go?

The two had reached the top of the staircase after some indeterminate length of time, which had felt like hours to the boys, though it had probably been closer to minutes. George let go of Dream’s freckled arm and the stronger of the two pushed him forwards at the top of the stairwell, into the fire exit and maintenance box, the small building at the top of the stairwell that led out to the open roof. Dream heaved, unable to take in a good breath; from the humidity or the panic he wasn’t sure. His knees rested on the edge of the top stair, before he pushed himself up with his hands when the position became painful.

Pushing harshly on the door, George grunted in tired frustration. Dream exhaled a halfhearted laugh from his nose as he witnessed the struggle, recognizing the fight between George and the door, expanded from a long day of summer heat. Dream helped him out, large hands pushing against the door with a firm pressure. The metal relented finally, swinging open with a jolting creak to reveal the roof before them. 

_And here it is, our final night alive_

Dream didn’t frequent the roof often, as it wasn’t really meant for residents, just for maintenance men and electricians. The few times he had come up were to take photos of the sunset per his mother’s request, or very occasionally to sort through issues that had been particularly bothering him. The cool wind at the top of the building was oddly grounding, and the view was just spectacular.

George seemed to be admiring it, though Dream wasn’t sure if he could ever know fully just how fantastic the sunset was in Orlando. Nonetheless, as he made his way through the doorway of the maintenance box, he felt a stab in his heart as George’s silhouette was painted starkly in front of the setting sun, the brilliant purples, oranges, and reds, all fading into the rich black night, quickly approaching. 

Everything was still for a moment -- Dream admiring George, and George looking pretty while being painfully oblivious. He could laugh at how representative it was of their relationship.

Things really never change, Dream thought.

The moment nearly turned sour as George shakily approached the edge of the roof, knees wobbling incessantly. Dream watched, teeth clenched, while his friend crept closer to the edge before promptly sitting himself down in criss-cross applesauce formation. Dream’s stomach settled. George looked so impossibly small to Dream in that moment, engulfed by the view of the interstate in front of him, palm trees swaying on either side and towering over him. Dream wanted nothing more than to hug him, to hold him and protect his best friend from everything awful the world was handing to them.

And so he did. The younger man stepped carefully and quietly towards the edge, cringing at the rough concrete of the roof as it scraped against the soles of his feet. He haphazardly set himself down behind George. He squeezed his eyes shut, hard, the sudden jolting movement making his head throb. He sat still for a moment until it subsided to a dull ache, before scooting himself forward and reaching sweatpant-clad legs to rest on either side of George. Long arms snake under George’s, hands resting comfortably on his stomach. To complete the bear hug, Dream hesitantly placed his head upon George’s left shoulder, stubble scratching against the soft material of his tee. Trying to take in a deep breath, Dream made a futile attempt to recognize George’s smell under the stink of alcohol.

That feeling was back, of not being able to breathe. This time, Dream knew it was the fear, though the sticky-hot night coupled with the pair’s close embrace didn’t help. It was only worsened when Dream looked over to George’s face and saw hot tears silently streaming down his pale cheeks. Logically, Dream knew that there was nothing he could have done to console the man he was holding, nothing that could have given him comfort; they were quite literally living through the unimaginable. There was just something, though, about seeing George so distraught, that sparked something in Dream. 

It was as though he weren’t in control of his own body. Dream probably would have growled if he was a dog, filled with this unfathomable rage at the world for doing this disservice to his best friend. He just needed George to be okay. He didn’t need to be okay. Dream’s head turned, lips planting themselves softly on the cheek of his friend. George’s breath halted at once, before he relaxed into the gesture, exhaling slowly with his eyes shut. The taste of tears invaded Dream’s dry mouth. 

A hand rose to the other side of George’s face, a thumb swiping away the moisture and letting his lips root themselves in their place more firmly. He pressed small, featherlight kisses down his companion’s jaw, and before Dream could realize, wet tracks made their way down his own tanned and sweaty face; angry tears, for George, for the world, for himself.

His jaw had landed comfortably back on George’s collarbone, and he could hear George sniffle quietly in his ear before a soft pair of lips grazed Dream’s honey-blond hair, returning the favor in his own typical subtle manner, not outright saying the words, but rather implying them. Dream hummed some unrecognizable melody into his clavicle, the soft low notes buzzing and rumbling in George’s chest, like a colony of bees had taken refuge in his ribcage.

_And as the earth burns to the ground, oh girl, it’s you, that I lie with, as the atom bomb locks in_

Another rumble came next, from below them this time. Very quickly had the feeling gone from hardly noticeable, to quaking the concrete slab just beneath their feet. George had, on instinct, scrambled to rise, to remove himself from the roof.

 _Shouldn’t have come on the roof, needed to stay,_ George’s brain supplied, unhelpfully.

Dream’s grip on his midsection strengthened, jaw hooking onto his shoulder and locking him in place. George’s hands grasped for anything they could find, and planted themselves onto Dream’s forearms. He felt them flex under his grip as his friend braced, shivered from fear. His humming continued, rushed, messy, and out of tune.

The quaking built to a steady tremor until it seemed to dissipate at once. Had their eyes been open, the boys would have seen the aftershock, the atmosphere around them pulse and shudder. 

What they couldn’t avoid though, was the unbelievable and deafening ring that followed. Similarly to the shaking, it started small, slow, and quiet, and crescendoed spectacularly to a piercing roar. The two had no time to register the sound before it overtook them, settled in their flesh and bones, the most stomach-churning sound they had ever heard.

He couldn’t be sure if he had gone deaf or if the noise had stopped, though when the noise had evidently ceased, he also couldn’t hear his own incessant and manic humming. He could only feel the vibration in George’s chest, and the heart inside beating. Dream recognized, helplessly, as the previously steady rhythm in his lover’s ribs slowed to a concerning pace.

_Oh it’s you, I watch TV with, as the world_

Dream tried to take in oxygen, tried to open his eyes, to hear or smell anything, but nothing was there. Everything around him was black and fuzzy, nothing was left. The only thing grounding him, reminding him he was still on earth, was the man in his arms, but the body was now limp. He let himself relax, but he didn’t dare let go.

_As the world caves in_


	2. Every Time I Drive Through (the City Where You’re From)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap struggles with his own problems with Dream amidst much more pressing global issues. Would his impulsivity finally get the best of him?

Driving had never been Sapnap’s forte. To this day, classmates would make fun of him for being the only one in their freshman class to flunk their permit exam, scoring a pathetically low 40, not even close to what was necessary to pass. Behind the wheel, his hands would get clammy and he’d overthink relentlessly, missing turns left and right, passing every exit on the highway.

Driving with his dad only made it worse — that stomach churning feeling of the stern and unnervingly tense older man grasping the handle above the car’s window and slamming his hand on the center console in frustration was, unfortunately, a common one for Sapnap. He had gotten better with time though, slowly learning the feel of his car, the way it moved. Which had all been thrown out the window, of course, after he was forced to reinvent his grand plan by stealing his stepsister’s car rather than taking his own.

He let out a short chuckle at the thought of Dream’s laugh, the small doubtful, dismissive wheeze he used to utter every time Sapnap had brought up the idea on late night calls. The idea of running away, taking his old hunk of a car to up and leave, just like in the movies. He’d thought about it obsessively; he’d gone as far as making a private Spotify playlist with his own personal favorite songs that he’d expected to listen to when he put the plan into action. That, too, was lost. Joy’s stupid car didn’t have a working audio jack. 

All the 2010 Kia Optima had was a CD player and standard radio, shuffling through the same round of overplayed classic rock and repetitive pop. He had shut the radio off hours ago, his large hand practically sending the off-button through to the hood of the car as the same Dua Lipa song began again. He had wondered bewilderedly if whoever was controlling the songs was just doing this to mock him, or to punish him for being on the roads. 

Sapnap’s thoughts wandered naturally from there, and as he made his way down interstate after interstate, with the quiet and consistent rumble of the pavement beneath his car hypnotizing him, a gnawing feeling of guilt and regret began to grow in his chest. It spread throughout his body, constricted his breathing, and just like old times, the car began to shake and swerve on the road.

But there was nobody else driving for him to veer into, and that was exactly what scared Sapnap most. Seven hours ago now, he had driven hastily out of his neighborhood and around to his friends’ houses, slowly passing by and looking longingly into their windows. Part of it felt like the past, the hundreds of times he’d haphazardly pulled into their driveways to pick them up, so they could mess around at the local park, or go in the backyard to shoot hoops. He had real friends in Texas, people he could put all his trust into and say practically anything to. Granted, not _many_ friends, but it wasn’t like he was alone. So what was he doing then, making a thirteen hour drive to a place he didn’t know if he’d even reach? Why was he doing this to himself?

_Don’t ask stupid questions, Nick. You know why you’re going._

Sapnap cursed his internal monologue, overbearing and unending in the heavy silence of the car. He might have even turned on the radio if he knew that same stupid song wasn’t going to be playing. Reluctantly, he let himself think about what he was doing.

He hadn’t even sent a message to Dream, not for a few days, actually. There were two reasons. First, his family was… sort of manic. Understandably so, but he had still been the most wary out of all of his family members. He could remember a hundred times before when people had been absolutely convinced that the world would be ending, and at first, things hadn’t seemed any different. His stepmom had always been a major conspiracist; far different from the realistic and straight-edged manner in which he was raised. Hearing hysterical cries of the rapture or massive tsunamis time and time again had sort of put him off anything he might have believed. 

When the _Houston Chronicle_ had published an article on it, though, and his highschool buddy Anthony had sent him a concerned message about the state of the world, was when Sapnap began to believe in the rumors of nuclear violence, a political spat that had turned horribly and completely sour.

Naturally, Sapnap’s father made sure he wasn’t “lost in his internet world”, as he had venomously referred to it in the past. He would admit that there were times he could have snuck in a quick conversation with his long-time online friends amidst his family’s panic, but he still wasn’t sure how to begin a conversation that wouldn’t end up awkward and anxious.

It wasn’t at all abnormal for Dream and his conversations to lull for periods of time, but they were both aware that this situation was different. So wildly different, in fact, that they hadn’t even known what to say to each other. Never had they had nothing to say, and it set off something in Sapnap’s brain. Things had been somewhat tense between the two anyway, and his stomach soured as he remembered why.

Just a few days before everything had gone to chaos, Sapnap had answered a discord call from Dream. That in itself was not so odd, though he remembered responding with a questioning, nervous smile as he saw the other party’s camera turn on. Dream didn’t often turn on his facecam whenever they called, unless it was to show off something particularly precious that Patches was doing, maybe performing a trick she’d learned or modeling a holiday-themed outfit. 

Sapnap had put his face close to the screen, expecting the cat to come into view at any moment. When the other side’s video loaded, however, he was face to face with probably the last person he had expected; George. That certainly wasn’t Patches. He’d checked again to make sure that George hadn’t coincidentally joined the call at that moment, but a glance at the small profile picture proved to be Dream’s classic sleepy cartoon fanart.

“Surprise!” A familiar voice, light and airy with giddy, unbridled happiness, flooded Sapnap’s phone speakers from behind the camera. 

George looked at Sapnap’s shocked expression on the phone and giggled heartily, a huge, toothy grin glued to his face. His eyes squinted with laughter as Sapnap’s brow furrowed bewilderedly, making an attempt at deciphering what he was hearing and seeing. The camera-holder changed the angle, held the phone a bit further back. Sapnap could see now, his two best friends in the driver and passenger seat of Dream’s car. He studied Dream then, holding his breath, and saw the twinkle in his eyes. He realized in his later contemplation, one of the dozens of times that he’d replayed that call in his head, that he had never seen Dream when he was talking to George, let alone been with him in person; the difference was sickening. He feigned shock and confusion for a few more moments, taking the time to absorb what had happened.

Dream had flown George out to Orlando, and the whole operation had been kept a secret from their closest friend. On call, as Dream rambled on excitedly about how he bought the tickets and got George there all within the span of a week, he was play-betrayed, while deep down it had stung. Dream and Sapnap had spoken countless times about when they’d meet up, and they were all well aware that doing so would have been significantly more simple than flying someone out all the way from London. 

He didn’t dare bring that up on call; he let the two boys get their excitement out and told them to call a bit later and blurted out some dumb excuse for having to leave, before hanging up and falling back onto his bed with a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek until he drew blood, some sort of deep-seated frustration planting itself behind his eyes, making them pulse.

Sapnap honestly wasn’t sure what the reason was at first, for the pair not telling him that they were going to meet. He had figured out, though more so convinced himself, in the coming days that the reason he wasn’t told was because they figured he would have to have been invited then, and they seemed perfectly content in spending time on their own. He felt immature, like this was middle school drama that would become irrelevant nearly immediately. Despite this, Sapnap let himself wallow in that feeling, sitting up at night scrolling through his Discord chat history with Dream, while he knew he and George were probably up laughing at each other’s stupid jokes like they had always done. The mental picture of the two sitting on Dream’s couch together sat in his stomach, a heavy weight.

One night, in his misery, he had thrown a bottle of Advil from his nightstand to his bedroom floor, heard the pills spill out onto the hardwood. The next day he’d vented to Callahan in DMs about how upset he had been over the “Dreamnotfound Meetup Extravaganza”. Another night, he stuffed his head into his pillow and held his breath until his head hurt, the stuffiness fogging his brain so he couldn’t think about all the fun he was missing out on in Florida. Were they even thinking about him? When had he become an afterthought to Dream? 

He considered these questions obsessively, and the breath was knocked from his lungs as he scrolled through thousands upon thousands of messages shared between him and Dream, the oxygen in his dark bedroom seeming to thin as he saw how few and far between the messages were nowadays, the screen of his phone searing into his eyes and making them sting. His throat would swell, growing tighter and tighter each time, in reading the conversations with his lifelong friend, that he saw just how often the conversation would turn to George. Sapnap had wanted to slap himself, he felt stupid. 

_“How have I been so blind,”_ he would wonder aloud into the empty darkness of his bedroom. _“How did I not realize?”_ Realize _what_ exactly he had left open ended, though he knew in some dark recess of his mind that it was about how Dream and George had moved on without him. So incredibly far ahead; and it all seemed to click into place at once. Those nights where Sapnap would wait up for a Discord call from Dream, he was probably already on the phone with George. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was George had that he didn’t. All he knew was that he had effectively been replaced.

_Replaced?_

Sapnap let out a shuddering breath at the thought of the word and slammed the brakes, feeling that stuffy fog invade his brain once again, muffling his senses. He wondered when it had gotten so hot in the car, and a quick hand-in-front-of-the-vent test showed that no air had been flowing. Perhaps he’d muddled with the AC when he had smashed his hand through the radio before. He jabbed at the button a few times. Nothing. Frustration rose inside him like flooding water, or fire spreading in a dry, dead forest.

“I can’t fucking _THINK!_ ” Sapnap growled, the energy inside him leaving in a burning and forceful release, his arms banging heavily upon the steering wheel. The vehicle shook underneath his touch before stilling, idling engine purring in the hood the only sound he could hear. He gasped in a few breaths, humidity stifling the oxygen from entering his lungs. He looked out the passenger side window, saw the desert stretching on, impossibly far in any given direction, not another person in sight. He felt immeasurably alone, and it scared him.

He ripped his eyes from the dusty scene before him and his hands, shaking and clammy, wandered to the center console, desperately needing a distraction. He reached underneath and it opened with a small click. He reached in, not looking for anything in particular, and grabbed out the contents. Loose change, tampons, Jollibee napkins, all were grabbed up and thrown messily onto the passenger seat. His fingers hit the bottom of the console, touching some unknown object. He leaned over to look inside, and was faced with a small CD case resting in the bottom of the container. He tilted his head to examine it.

“Be the Cowboy.” he read out slowly, fingers grasping at the side of the case and bringing it closer so he could further inspect. He blew out a half hearted breath to rid the plastic of its dust, and he watched as the shiny material fogged with the hot air, obscuring the face on the album cover. He hadn’t heard of the artist before, Mitski. He guessed it was one of the artists Joy obsessed over. Maybe it was her favorite; it was the only CD she appeared to keep in her car, anyway.

Sapnap popped open the case, and let out a small disgruntled noise as the rays from the setting sun bounced off of the shining silver disc directly into his eyes. He looked away out of instinct, out the driver side window, and caught sight of the sun setting off in the distance, a mass of red and orange descending down to dip below the horizon. It was so hot in the car. When had it gotten so hot? The rays snuck in and seared his forearm, resting on the wheel, the other hand loosely holding the CD case. He turned his attention back to it, fingernail maneuvering under the disc to pop it out. He wasn’t sure what to expect from the music. It was no Roddy Ricch, that’s for sure, but it beat the silence.

He caught the disc, letting the case drop with a muffled crack onto the floor of the car. He held the disc up carefully to the slot in the radio, watched with tired eyes as the player took it gently from his sweaty hands. Sapnap closed his eyes, focusing on the mechanical whir of the player recognizing the disc, before what he assumed was the first track began to play. It was quiet, a low, mesmerizing synth chord building in the car’s stereo. The noise was good, but not enough. It needed to be louder, needed to drown out everything he was feeling; the jealousy, the stinging feeling in the back of his throat, the heat that was slowly growing unbearable, his back sticking to the black fabric seat behind him.

Eyes still closed, he reached to the control panel and searched for the volume button. His hands instead found another button. He pressed down in his delirious state, and held, before his hand slipped down to rest limply on the gear stick. His body jerked as a different song began to play, he had hit the skip button instead. His body was melting into the seat, he couldn’t be bothered to fix the mistake. The track was far different, something calm and dreamy. 

It felt as though the melody cooled his skin, soothed his pain, but had it just gotten too stiflingly humid in the car for him to feel that searing, white-hot, flare? He couldn’t be sure. The voice came quickly after. His ears were tickled by the soft singing, and his brain focused in on the lyrics, picturing them in the red-blackness just behind his eyes.

_We nearly drowned_

_For such a silly thing_

_Someone who loves me now_

_Better than you_

The words floated around in his fever-dreamscape, slowly sinking in and registering in his mind, but they weren’t necessarily being processed. Drowning sounded about nice to him at that moment, and it almost felt like he was in some metaphorical sense, the way that his body was completely consumed by the weight of the air in the car, the regret in his chest growing heavier with each frustrating subconscious thought that crossed his mind. 

_And that pretty friend is_

_Finally yours_

A picture formulated in his mind at this, blurry around the edges but a familiar face nonetheless. Coffee-brown hair and a perfect smile, a defined jaw that melted into rosy cheekbones, soulful, gleaming, almond eyes. He felt a pang in his heart at the mental image, one he’d imagined night after night, especially as of late.

It was the face that he’d been replaced by, one that was far better than his own, that he’d lost the most important thing he had to. 

_And_ _I'll be around on Sunday, if_

_You'll meet me at Blue Diner,_

_I'll take coffee and talk about nothing, baby_

_At Blue Diner,_

_I'll take anything you want to give me, baby_

“Jesus fuck,” he murmured quietly into the car, though his slurred exclamation was hidden under the music. George and that damned perfect smile dissolved in his mind, another picture taking its place. A less developed one now, a largely unknown face staring at him from across a simply decorated room, laundry and a mess strewn about the place. It was his own room, he barely registered, and the man at his setup was Dream, his own obscure impression of him, anyway.

He’d hardly seen the man these days, as opposed to years ago when they were preteens and they’d Facetime for days at a time. Now, he’d join a call with Dream and George and the former would quickly turn off his camera. 

His own mental picture hurt him, moreso his inability to form a clear one. His stomach churned and clenched, all he wanted was to see Dream. The words resonated with him; he’d kept himself awake in the car by imagining in his mind the nothingness that he’d discuss with Dream when he arrived, how he would get to physically live out those moments where they’d laugh until they couldn’t breathe, or the nights where they’d sit on call in silence, just basking in each other's company.

His imagination waned at this idea, that picture was a much more difficult one to conjure up. Maybe those occurrences were something that he had wanted to revive for far longer than he’d consciously tried to.

_I haven't told anyone_

_Just like we promised_

_Have you?_

_Every time I drive through the city where you're from_

_I squeeze a little_

That final line hit like a freight train; one which, upon impact, shattered that unclear mental image that he had previously devised. Dream was gone in an instant, along with his room, the laundry, the disturbingly clear mess of Advil littered on the ground. The break was almost tangible, and his eyes flew open, letting him escape the sickening dreamscape he’d fallen into. At once he had become uncomfortably aware of his own presence in the car. 

The shock of the unreasonably topical lyrics had actually brought tears to his eyes, he realized, upon viewing the deepening sunset that swam in front of him. He heaved in more and more air, his chest rose and fell, ribcage filling the car with each desperate breath.

He was cooking, and somewhere in his subconscious he felt the waves of heat ebbing and flowing on his cheeks, and the tears finally spilling over onto them, tracing hot tracks down them before catching on his facial hair, left unshaven due to the previous days' distraction and chaos. The tears evaporated in an instant under the beating rays and heat leftover from the day, and he focused on the feeling of his skin tightening uncomfortably under the teartracks. 

The previous verses’ lyrics and the sour feeling they put in his stomach faded in the heat, and the constricting feeling of regret loosened as the beating took over, a mesmerizing pulse on his skin that worked its way inside of him until he was completely enveloped, every fibre of his being poisoned by the sun.

He breathed shallowly and noticed with little concern that his fingers, resting on the gearstick, weren’t part of him anymore, nor were his feet and the other forearm, hung limply over the bottom gap in the steering wheel. The only feeling he could compare it to was going under for surgery the previous year, the out of body feeling of the anesthetic lulling him, the song’s chorus fading off eerily similar to the heart rate monitor beeping muffling and the shuffling of nurses moving around his body. 

Sapnap remembered waking up from surgery to a text from Dream, saying to look on his doorstep for a package addressed to him. A weak smile adorned his face at the memory, tinged with pain at the edges. How he kept the note in the package pinned up on the corkboard behind his desk, and how his father teased him with a smirk that his boyfriend had sent him something in the mail. It was with that memory that he felt himself losing touch, felt only his shallow breathing rhythmically shift his core in the sweat-soaked seat. Just like going to sleep on some hot summer night.

He would wake up soon, right? He wanted to be sure to thank Dream in person for his gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks... I will admit, I completely forgot this fic existed for a while! However, I came back to lots and lots of very kind comments from you all, so I figured I'd give you all another extra upsetting chapter to make up for my 2-month absence. My question for you is: would you like to see any other POVs in this AU, or would you like to see something else entirely from me? Be sure to let me know in the comments, I love talking to you guys. Cheers! - Comet

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this fic! Angst has never been my strong suit, but there was something about this song that urged me to write. And so here it is! Feedback is appreciated :) - Comet


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